


Hands clasped to the cold

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Injuries, References to Character Death, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after crossing the Ice, Turgon and Aredhel share a moment, and Turgon remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands clasped to the cold

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. I realize I haven't written much about Turgon and his relationship with Aredhel, and I find it all very interesting, even though I'm still working out some of my thoughts. This is the beginning of those ideas falling into place.

The wind that had whipped up off the lake was icy, but Turgon found he had a rather different perspective on what qualified as ‘cold’ these days. Nevertheless, the warmth of the tent was more than welcome as he ducked through the door into the brazier-heated space.

He pushed back the hood of his cloak and winced a little as he tugged off his gloves. His right hand, frost-bitten on the ice, still grew stiff and achy on cold nights, and he flexed his fingers impatiently to get the blood flowing into them.

 

-

_“You continued on with a missing glove for how long?” Fingon had demanded, incredulously, as he cradled Turgon’s hand between his own._

_“Just a couple hours,” Turgon had said, and flinched as Fingon tried to move his fingers._

_Fingon had let out a heartfelt sigh. “You are lucky I love you, brother,” he said._

_“Why – ” Turgon began, and then gaped in astonishment as Fingon had drawn Turgon’s frozen hand beneath his own furs, pressing it to the heat of his bare skin. He shuddered and made a face._

_“It’s like cuddling a glacier to your breast,” he had muttered. “Next time, mind your gloves!”_

_-_

 

Turgon smiled at the memory as he tucked his gloves into his pocket. Rare, he reflected, that a memory of the Ice could make him smile.

He turned to the other occupant of the tent. “Father and Findekáno are still talking,” he said, “but I thought I’d come and check on things. Is Itarillë asleep?”

Aredhel was still bent over the brazier, her face obscured. “Yes,” she said, indistinctly. “I put her to bed.”

“Thank you,” said Turgon. He stretched, attempting to straighten his back, and hit his head on one of the hanging lamps. “ _Ouch_. Don’t you think they could design slightly larger tents? Particularly if we’re going to be here a while, I wish…” he stopped, observing Aredhel’s hunched shoulders. “Irissë, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” said Aredhel, wiping at her cheeks and shaking her head impatiently. “I’m fine.”

But he knelt beside her, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Ireth…”

“She called me ‘mama’,” said Aredhel, and covered her face with her hands.

 

-

_“Mama!”_

_Turgon no longer slept._

_Even if his dreams hadn’t been haunted wastelands, that cry would drag him from sleep every time._

_Idril, calling for her mother._

_He no longer even tried to fall asleep in his own bedroll, and instead went to hers, cradling her in his arms, knowing there was nothing he could say or do to comfort her, half wishing he could keep her from sleep as well, because each time she woke, she wept for someone who wasn’t there to greet her._

_“Mama!”_

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair, golden as Elenwë’s. “Mama’s not here. But I am. I’m here, my little one, my love…”_

_He knew it wasn’t enough_.

-

 

He realized he had frozen, his hand still on Aredhel’s shoulder, and made an effort to speak. “She – ”

“She was half asleep,” said Aredhel, raising her head. “I don’t think she was fully conscious of what she was saying. But oh, Turno – it’s not fair. It’s not fair that she’s gone, it’s not fair that you had to lose her, that  _we_  had to lose her, it’s not fair that her daughter – ” Her voice broke, and Turgon pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, into his shoulder. “I’m sorry she called me that. I don’t want her to forget – I don’t want her to think that I’m trying to be – ”

“She is lucky to have you,” said Turgon, holding her tighter. “And so am I.”

“I’m just your terrible little sister.”

“Yes, you are. And I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

 

-

 _“Ireth, stop_ following _me!”_

_From her perch in the tree, Irissë made a horrible face at him. “You don’t do anything interesting anyway.”_

_“So leave me alone!”_

_“I wanted to see where you were going with Findaráto.”_

_“To the river, stupid, but Atar says you’re too little. You’ll fall in.”_

_Irissë glowered at him. “I am_ not _too little! I can swim!”_

_“You can sink.” Turukáno put his hands on his hips and glared at her. “Like a little, annoying rock. And that branch is too small for you.”_

_“It is NOT.” Irissë threw a twig at him and wriggled on her branch, to prove its sturdiness. There was an ominous creak._

_“Ireth,” said Turukáno, suddenly anxious. “Get down from there.”_

_“It’s fine,” said Irissë, though she was starting to look a little concerned, and inched closer to the trunk._

_“It’s going to – ”_

_Turukáno was cut off by the crack of the branch breaking, and Irissë’s shriek as she fell. She rolled as she landed, and Turukáno was at her side in an instant, his arm behind her shoulders._

_“Are you all right? Where does it hurt?”_

_“I’m fine,” said Irissë, in a tight little voice._

_Turukáno patted her down carefully, searching for broken bones. He found none, but when he pulled up the torn leg of her trousers, he revealed a deep gash in her shin. Irissë went white and sank her fingers into his arm._

_“Don’t worry,” said Turukáno, soothingly, tearing a long strip from his tunic and started to wrap it around her leg. “We’ll bind this up and get you home quick – Amil will know what to do.”_

_“What if I can’t walk?” said Irissë, her voice a little high-pitched._

_“Then I’ll carry you,” said Turukáno briskly, tying off the bandage and looking up apologetically as Irissë flinched. Her face was very pale and her eyes were bright as she bit her lips. “Ireth,” he said gently. “You can cry if it hurts.”_

_“No,” she said. Her fingers were still wrapped tightly around his arm, but they loosened as she looked up into his face. “It’s not so bad.”_

_-_

 

“Turukáno,” said Aredhel, looking up at him, and he shook his head, pulling himself back from his memories.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to be there for you,” she said, holding on to him. “For both of you.”

“You already are.”

“No,” she said, and her voice held a certain timbre that made him pause. It was a tone in which one swore oaths, and he held out a hand to stop her.

“Irissë – ”

“Where you go, I will go. Where you lead, I will follow. Mostly.” She smiled, then, and he realized how long it had been since he had seen her smile. “Sometimes, brother, you would do well to follow  _me_.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“But I am going to be there for you, and for Itarillë. Let me be your strong right hand.”

He took her hand then, and kissed it. “You already are,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. My apologies to Ruth and Naomi, since Aredhel quoted the Old Testament basically verbatim.


End file.
